As Oliver loaded groceries into the trunk of his dad’s beat-up green Camry, he replayed his conversation with the Kingsman twins over and over in his head.
He still couldn’t believe he’d bumped into them after all this time, and right as he’d gotten back into town too. It was like fate. Or kismet. Something like that. He was a cynical New Yorker through and through; he didn’t normally buy into such things, but running into his childhood best friends after more than ten years apart was enough to make a believer out of him.
He’d recognized Max the moment he’d laid eyes on him. Even though he and Aiden were identical, their energies were totally different. Ten years later, all Oliver had needed was to see his face to know it was him. Max was always grinning, like life was one big joke that he couldn’t explain or else it wouldn’t be funny anymore.
Then there was Aiden. Aiden was like . . . stone. In a good way. Solid. Steadfast. Stubborn, when it came to things that really mattered. When they were kids, their classmates had teased him for being quiet, but Oliver remembered a little boy who could go on and on and on about bugs and math long after everyone had stopped listening. Except for Oliver.
Seeing them again was like opening a time capsule, and Oliver was eager to dig through it. Since he’d arrived in Irvington last week, his life had been nothing but endless family gatherings, small talk, and obligations. Now he had something to look forward to. But first, he had to get out of dinner at Dad’s house that night, a Herculean feat to say the least.
Just pulling into the driveway made dread bloom like mold in his stomach. He studied the plain beige face of the little house Dad had bought. The tiny windows and red door made it look like a beady-eyed man with his tongue lolling out.
The rest of the houses on the street were mammoths. Oliver remembered a time in which they’d all been smallish bungalows like Dad’s, but the building market had expanded, and now cookie-cutter mansions had taken over like an invasive species. Dad’s modest house looked like a dull pebble wedged between two hunkering boulders. Oliver couldn’t imagine what had possessed his father to give up a condo in San Diego for this.
Not that Oliver wasn’t grateful he’d moved back. Living on the same coast made it easier to see him.
There’s your answer right there. He moved to be closer to you. Now, go in there and tell him you’re ditching him tonight.
“This ought to be fun,” he muttered to himself, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. It was so hot it cooked his skin, but he kept his head where it was, seeing how long he could take it. He gave up when he imagined he smelled sizzling bacon.
He exited the car, gathered the groceries out of the trunk, and trotted up to the front door. It wasn’t locked—thank god; he was out of hands—and so he was able to open it with a well-placed elbow. As the door swung open, he was greeted by the ominous but familiar sound of raised voices.
Great. His parents were getting an early start.
Oliver stood in the empty foyer, debating turning right back around. The plan had been for Mom to drive him up to the suburbs and drop him off, but some of the family had insisted she stay for a few days and catch up.
Mom would have found a gentle way to refuse, but her favorite brother-in-law—Oliver’s uncle—had died two weeks earlier, and work had forced her to miss the funeral. This was her one chance to pay her respects.
She’d ended up taking a week off to spend time with Uncle Ralph’s widow and cook an alarming number of lasagnas for his children, all of whom were adults with kids of their own. At least she’d had the good sense to refuse Dad’s offer to stay in the house, opting for a hotel room instead. Otherwise, Oliver was certain they’d have found a way to argue in their sleep.
He wasn’t convinced it was worth the headache. He’d loved Uncle Ralph too. In fact, the two of them had exchanged letters in Oliver’s youth. He would never forget Uncle Ralph’s steady handwriting, each loopy letter formed with care and consideration. In ten years, Oliver had never seen a blot-out in one of his letters.
But the near-constant fighting made his stomach acid churn. After his parents had split up, he’d thought he would never have to listen to it again. No such luck. Every time there was a holiday or life event, Mom and Dad were thrown back together, and the screaming started up again like clockwork. It was hard not to feel like this was all his fault, considering he was their common denominator.
Oliver had been standing in the doorway for so long, the air had become a tepid mixture of air-conditioning and heat from outside. He sighed and kicked the door shut behind him. He supposed there was no avoiding it. At least Mom was heading back to the city tomorrow. If he could chin up until then . . .
Bracing himself, Oliver held the groceries in front of him like a shield and made his way through the living room to the rest of the house. With every step, the sound of yelling grew louder. By the time he walked into the kitchen, it was deafening. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find his parents standing next to the ancient stove, red-faced and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Mom’s dark hair—thick as oil, same as Oliver’s—was twisted up into a bun. It might have been his imagination, but Oliver thought it had twice as many gray streaks in it now. Dad looked presentable in pressed khakis and a collared shirt, but the effect was ruined by the frustration dripping from his lanky form.
Oliver skirted around them and set the groceries on the Formica counter next to the fridge. He unpacked them while reciting song lyrics in his head, like he’d done when he was a kid and the shouting had kept him awake at night.
As soon as Mom spotted him, she stopped yelling and plastered a smile on her face. It was so strained, it morphed into a rictus. “Oliver. There you are. I didn’t hear you come in.”
Yeah, I’ll bet.
Out loud, he said, “They were out of fat-free yogurt, so I got low fat. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s fine, honey. Don’t worry about it.”
He focused on putting the groceries away, but he could feel the tension sparking between his parents behind him. It was like standing with his back to a heat lamp.
After an excruciating silence, Dad said, “Oliver, after dinner tonight, your uncles are coming over for a friendly poker match. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” His tone had a hint of challenge, and Oliver would have bet money he and Mom had been fighting about that very thing. And with good reason.
Uncle Charlie and Uncle Marcus were loud, aggressive drunks. Happy ones, for the most part, but undeniably raucous. Since Oliver had arrived last week, they’d done nothing but remark about how skinny he was—which was true, compared to their lumbering, red-faced girth—and make snide comments about his “fancy school.”
The funny thing was, Oliver had fond memories of them from his childhood, but ever since he’d come out, it was like they didn’t know how to act around him. Most of Dad’s side of the family was like that, actually. They came from old-school Italian-Catholic roots, and as a result, Oliver was stuck fielding questions about his “lifestyle.”
Oliver opened the fridge and added the yogurt, milk, and eggs to the collection of beer and condiments inside. “I would love to, Dad, but you’re never going to guess who I ran into at the grocery store.”
“Who?” Mom was still smiling, but her eyes kept darting toward Dad, as if she were itching to start up their fight again.
“The Kingsman twins. You remember Max and Aiden, right?”
Dad huffed. “Yeah, I remember. Nice kids, though I was always a bit put off by their parents. Nobody’s marriage is that perfect.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “You only think theirs was perfect because ours was so miserable.”
Dad opened his mouth, purportedly to start arguing all over again, but Oliver interrupted. “Well, I was thrilled to see Max and Aiden again. We used to be close when we were kids. Best friends, in truth.”
Dad nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “Of course. You slept over there as often as you slept in your own bed.”
Yeah, because listening to you and Mom screaming gave me nightmares.
“They invited me to have dinner with them. I’d like to, if that’s all right. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight. You spend all year in the city with your mother, and then when I get my one measly summer with you, you’d rather have dinner with two virtual strangers?”
Despite the accusatory words, the anger melted off Dad’s face and was replaced with genuine hurt. He looked away like he didn’t want Oliver to see, but it was too late.
I’m a bad son.
Guilt formed a lump in Oliver’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. He swallowed, but that sent it sliding into his gut like cold lead. A voice in his head demanded that he spend time with his dad, even if it meant missing out on a chance to reconnect with the Kingsmans. But another, oilier voice whispered what he wanted to hear: it was only one night. It was normal for him to want to spend time with old friends. Dad would survive.
The second voice won. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I haven’t seen them in years, and I’ve had dinner with the family every night this week. I need a break, a chance to spend some time with people my age.”
Dad’s face flickered with guilt of his own, but the stiff set of his mouth said he wasn’t convinced. “Some of your cousins are your age. I’d rather you had dinner with us tonight.”
“Oliver is an adult, Don.” Mom dug into the pocket of her capris. “If he wants to spend a couple of hours with some friends, he’s allowed.” She pulled out her keys. “I’ll drive you, Ollie. I need to head back to my hotel anyway, and I’d love to pop in and say hi to Kim and Roger.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Mom.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Dad said.
Damn. So close.
But then he shocked Oliver by adding, “I will drive him.”
Before Oliver could react, Mom pursed her lips. “You said you don’t like the Kingsmans.”
“I like them fine, and anyway, it’s not about them. I want to spend some time with my son.”
Oliver wanted to be flattered. His parents were fighting over who got to spend the most time with him, after all. But he knew the truth. Half of the reason Dad wanted to drive him was so Mom wouldn’t get to. And Oliver was considering letting him, if it meant he got to go.
He couldn’t do that to Mom. He had to stick up for her. “Dad, I appreciate the offer, but—”
Mom threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oh, fine. You take him. Deny me that on top of everything else. I’m out of here. Oliver, walk me to the front door.” She grabbed Oliver’s wrist and tugged him from the room, nose in the air.
Despite his confusion, Oliver allowed himself to be towed to the front of the house. Once there, he was about to ask what had happened when Mom turned to him and winked. “Is your dad easy or what?”
Oliver’s jaw dropped to the tile floor. “You planned that?”
“Oh, come on. You think after all these years I don’t know how to work your father?” She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Behold, your mother: the Oscar-worthy actress.”
Oliver laughed. “Nice work. Though I have to admit, I feel kinda bad. You and Dad are fighting so much, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.”
She shushed him. “Honey, I’m a big girl. I made the decision to stay and see everyone. Besides, it’s not your fault your father and I are fighting. We’ve been doing it since the day we met. I know you’re an adult now, but you’re still our boy. Leave the worrying to us, all right?”
“I guess. I hate the idea of you staying all by yourself in that hotel, though.”
“What else could I do? Stay here and risk smothering your dad in his sleep? I can’t resist a temptation that great.” She patted his arm. “It’s only for another night anyway, and then I’m headed back to the city. You, on the other hand, are stuck here all summer. You need to seize every opportunity you can to relax and have fun.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“If it gets to be too much, you can always call me. I mean it. Say the word, and I’ll drop everything and come get you.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s a two-hour drive roundtrip.”
She pointed a finger at herself. “Is this the face of a mother who cares? Though I’d hate for you to miss out on time with your dad’s side. They sure are a . . . colorful bunch. Remember Cousin Susie’s wedding when you were eight? They got married in that dinky chapel out in the woods, only they didn’t put up any directional signs, and everyone got lost? When the sun started to set, it was like the plot of a horror movie.”
Oliver laughed. “Yup, I remember that.”
“Good. If you repress everything, you’ll have nothing to tell your therapist.” She tossed her keys into the air and caught them neatly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, honey. Make sure you wear something nice to dinner tonight. Seeing old friends for the first time in years is a perfect excuse to dress up.”
“I will. Oh, and Mom?”
She’d taken a step toward the door, but she turned back. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.” Mom gave him a big kiss on the cheek and sashayed out the door.
Oliver shut it behind her. He considered going back into the kitchen, but he figured Dad needed time to cool off. Beyond that, he wanted to heed his mom’s advice and pick out something sharp to wear. Good thing he’d had the foresight to pack a couple of dressier outfits, just in case.
His bedroom was to the left of the living room. Pushing his door open, he found the space exactly as he’d left it: barren and dusty with the stale smell all unoccupied rooms seemed to cultivate. Dad had made a few attempts to decorate, but the blue-and-white-striped walls and anchor pillows suggested he thought Oliver was still in his sailor phase. The sailor phase he’d gone through when he was five. It was a nice gesture, though.
His windows faced west, and so a healthy dose of afternoon sunlight set his white curtains ablaze. The pine furniture cast long shadows across the floor like spilled ink. He tossed himself onto his bed. The mattress—which he happened to know was the same one from their old house—squeaked beneath his weight as if protesting how much he’d grown during the school year.
Would this ever feel like home to him? Maybe by the end of the summer, right when he’d have to head back to the city. Then he’d get used to being there, only to come here again for Thanksgiving. Wash, rinse, repeat.
Oliver rolled over and tugged his phone out of his pants pocket. He had some Facebook notifications from friends back home, but he bypassed those in favor of checking out the two new names in his Contacts. Max and Aiden. The Kingsman twins, as they were often referred to. Talk about a blast from the past.
Though he’d recognized Max the second he’d spotted him, the brothers had changed a lot since they were all snot-nosed kids. They had the same brown curls, fair skin, and pale-blue eyes, but their faces, which had been soft and round in childhood, had sharpened into prominent cheekbones and strong jaws.
And as always . . . Aiden was somehow more handsome than his brother. Ever since they were kids, Oliver had thought they weren’t really identical. Max was good-looking and all, but Aiden was downright gorgeous.
As it turned out, that was one thing that hadn’t changed a bit over the years. Oliver’s heart still beat like a drumline whenever Aiden Kingsman was around. It also didn’t hurt that Aiden had gotten fit. Lacrosse had been good to him, sculpting his back and trimming his waist down to nothing. He still had that special something in his air, too. Oliver had never been able to describe it. It was soothing, like looking out through the rain and seeing everything soften into a gray haze.
Oliver hadn’t thought about his massive crush on Aiden in years. He’d had no reason to. Absence made the heart forget. But now that he’d run into him again, it was like no time had passed. The torch he’d been carrying for Aiden blazed as bright as ever.
Not that Oliver could do anything about it. He’d just gotten back into town. The last thing he needed to do was make things awkward between his only potential friends in the area. Plus, he didn’t know if Aiden liked him that way, or men in general.
There were bound to be things that’d changed in the past ten years. The twins were adults now. They must be different people. Oliver sure as hell wasn’t the same sensitive kid who used to sneak over to their house and pretend he lived there. He’d wanted to become a Kingsman himself back then. He’d been relieved when his parents had announced they were getting divorced, but then they’d made him move away, and it’d shattered his little heart.
He remembered begging his mom not to move to the city, but he’d understood in his own youthful way that she needed to escape. This place had choked her like an airborne contaminant. And so, he’d done the whole tearful-goodbye thing with Max and Aiden.
They’d made a game of it, hatching scheme after scheme that would allow them to stay together. The brothers had offered to run away with him, or to keep him in the basement like a stray kitten. But in the end, Oliver had moved without a fuss, for his mom’s sake.
He’d exchanged letters and phone calls with them at first, but with Oliver spending every holiday in California and the city being such a far drive, they never got to see each other. It was only a matter of time before they all made new friends and moved on. The letters stopped coming, and the phone calls dwindled. Before Oliver knew it, years had passed, and their friendship had become a distant childhood memory, no clearer than an old dream.
That was in the past, though. He had the opportunity to get to know them all over again, and he intended to take it. They might have nothing in common. They might not click at all. But if Oliver had to choose between them and hanging out with his invasive family, he’d pick stranger danger every time.
He rolled out of bed and shuffled over to his suitcase, which was lying open on the floor. He had a closet and a wardrobe, but he couldn’t bring himself to unpack. Somehow, it felt like giving up.
Despite not being born in the city, he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. It’d only been a week, and he already missed it. The brightness of it. The life. The constant beat he could sense in the air, like a pulse. Or a proverbial New York minute ticking away. He doubted he could ever settle down somewhere like Irvington, with its manufactured lawns and HOA fees.
Out of his suitcase, he selected a green polo shirt and knee-length cutoffs. His dad would want him to wear slacks out of politeness, but they were in the midst of one of the worst heat waves in history. He’d burn to a crisp if he stepped foot outside in thick dress pants.
By the time he’d finished brushing his teeth, shaving, and styling his hair into soft peaks, it was time to leave. He walked out into the living room and was surprised to discover his uncles had arrived. Their hulking figures took up two spots at the folding card table they’d set up in the living room.
“Hey, Oliver,” Uncle Charlie said, a stogie hanging from the corner of his mouth. “How’s tricks?”
“Fine, thanks. Where’s my dad?”
Uncle Marcus didn’t look up from the chips he was counting. “He should be right back.”
As if on cue, Dad drifted into the room. He eyed Oliver’s outfit with a frown, but all he said was, “You ready to go?”
“Yeah.” He turned to his uncles. “Sorry I can’t join you guys tonight.”
“We’re sorry too,” said Uncle Marcus, still sorting chips into colorful piles. “We heard you’re ditching us to hang out with some friends.”
Uncle Charlie took a sip of his beer. “You young people need to remember that blood is thicker than water.”
Oliver swallowed a tart response and smiled. “I’ll see you both tomorrow at breakfast?” Assuming you’re not too hungover.
“Sure thing.”
Dad led the way out of the house and to the car. He asked Oliver for the address, but otherwise they drove in silence. Oliver tried to pay attention to what was outside his window—this was his old neighborhood after all, and he hadn’t had a chance to see what had changed—but his thoughts buzzed around his skull like a swarm. How much about him did the twins remember? Would their parents be happy to see him? He sure hoped so.
When they turned onto Woodlark Drive and the Kingsman house rose into view, Dad whistled. “Damn. It hasn’t changed a bit.”
It was true. In the white-gold light of the late-afternoon sun, all the familiar details stood out. It was like the house popped up—untouched—out of the depths of Oliver’s memories. Same cheerful blue paint. Same white trim around the windows. Same azalea bushes lining the driveway, heavy with purple and pink flowers.
Dad pulled into the driveway and put the car into park. “Have fun tonight.”
“You’re not going to come in and say hi?”
“Nah, I’m not in the mood for small talk. Give them my best, and mind your manners, okay?”
“Will do. Thanks for driving me.”
He gave his dad an awkward one-armed hug, got out, and strolled up to the front door without looking back. Tires scraped the driveway, and then the sound of the engine faded into the distance.
Oliver took a breath to calm the sudden tide of nerves rising in him. He patted his hair to make sure it was still in place, and knocked on the front door. It swung open before he’d put his hand down.
Mrs. Kingsman’s bright smile greeted him like a lighthouse beacon. “Oliver! Oh, look at you.” She held him by the shoulders and examined him at arm’s length. “You’re all grown-up!”
“Hello, Mrs. Kingsman.” He smiled back and took her in. When he was little, he’d thought she was a giant, but now he had a good six inches on her. However, her warm brown eyes were exactly as he remembered. Like gingerbread.
“You’re a young man now. Call me Kim.” She squeezed one of his shoulders. “It’s so good to see you. I was so sorry when you and the boys lost touch.”
“Well, I’m here now, and I’m happy to be back. You still the best attorney in the state?”
She raised a thin eyebrow at him. “The state?”
“I’m so sorry. I meant the world.” Oliver sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”
“That’s Roger’s sauce. We made pizza doughs. Little individual ones, so everyone can pick their own toppings. I hope you’re hungry.” She paused. “And that you’re not allergic to gluten or anything.”
“Nope. Bring on the wheat.”
“Excellent.” She stepped back and opened the door wide. The interior was at once familiar and strange. They’d redecorated—which made sense, considering it’d been a decade—but he remembered the layout as if it were his own childhood home. He walked into a large living room with a formal dining room to the left and a hallway dead ahead.
He couldn’t see them from here, but in the kitchen, he knew there were big, sliding glass doors that led out into the backyard. Oliver and the twins had spent many an afternoon out there, playing in the shade of the trees.
“Wow.” He looked around. “It’s like stepping into a memory.”
Kim put a hand on his shoulder. “Welcome back, Ollie.” She started toward the hallway and waved for him to follow. The closer they got to the kitchen, the stronger the smell. And the louder the voices. But instead of screaming, Oliver heard Max and Aiden having a lively debate about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza.
Walking into the kitchen was like falling into a cloud of delicious food smells. Max and Aiden were nowhere in sight, but Mr. Kingsman (Roger) stood at the stove, stirring a saucepan filled with bubbling liquid. He glanced up when they walked in, and a crooked grin slid over his face. “Oliver! So glad you could join us.” He dropped the wooden spoon he was holding and scooped Oliver into a hug.
Oliver returned it with enthusiasm. If he held on for a second too long, Roger didn’t comment.
Kim sidled up next to her husband. “Hasn’t Oliver gotten tall?”
Roger slid an arm around his wife’s waist. “He sure has. I think you’ve got an inch on our boys, and they grew like weeds this past year.”
Max and Aiden—who were one room over, judging by the sound of their muffled voices—popped into the kitchen as if summoned by their father’s words.
“Oliver!” Max bounded over like an excited puppy. “When did you get here?”
“A sec ago. It’s good to see you again.” Oliver held out a hand to shake, but Max knocked it aside and pulled him into a hug instead. Oliver leaned into it. He was starting to suspect he might be a little affection-starved after hanging out with his macho uncles.
When Max let go, Aiden made a quieter but equally enthusiastic approach. “Hey.” His curls were damp, like maybe he’d showered. Gulp.
“Hey, Aiden.” Oliver cleared his throat. “For the record, I’m with you. Pineapple on pizza is delicious.”
Max gasped and clutched a hand to his heart. “Et tu, Ollie? I might have expected this from Aiden—he’s always been a bit odd—but not from you.”
“Boys, there are plenty of toppings to choose from.” Roger pointed to a series of small glass bowls laid out on the counter next to half a dozen stretched doughs. “Everything isn’t quite ready yet, though. Why don’t you take Oliver down to the game room while Mom and I finish up in here? We’ll call you when they’re ready to go in.”
Oliver remembered his manners. “Thanks so much for dinner, Roger. And you too, Kim.”
Max crinkled his nose. “Excuse you, their names are Mom and Dad. Now come on. The game room’s in the basement.” He bounced off.
Aiden followed after him at a slower pace.
Oliver started to do the same, but Roger caught his arm.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, Ollie. We hope you won’t be a stranger this summer.”
“You’re welcome here anytime,” Kim added.
“Thank you.” Oliver turned away before they could see his misty eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn’t a family member had been so happy to see him. Hell, half the time his actual relatives weren’t that enthused.
The murmur of pleasant voices and Roger humming off-key followed him out of the kitchen. He walked into the family room and found Aiden waiting for him.
“This way.” He waved toward a door in the far wall. “Max is already down there. No doubt firing up the Xbox.”
Oliver belonged to the camp of people who thought basements were creepy, but he followed anyway. Aiden opened the door, and bright light spilled out into the family room.
Max was standing at the bottom of the wooden stairs. He grinned when they appeared and began their descent. “Check it out!” He spun around with his arms out. “Pretty cool, right?”
Oliver took in the room, whistling through his teeth. “Well, damn.”
Instead of the dim lighting and cinder block walls he’d anticipated, the room looked like a windowless version of the living room upstairs. It’d been outfitted with hardwood floors, fresh paint, and overhead lights. There was a pool table off to one side, along with a dart board and an entertainment system that made Oliver salivate. The TV was the size of his closet, and inside the glass cabinets was every game console he could think of. And the games to go with them.
“Wow, this is incredible.” He walked over and scanned some of the titles. “You guys are so lucky. If I had a room like this in my house, I’d never leave.”
Aiden shifted from foot to foot. “This used to be the storage and laundry room, but Mom and Dad converted it after we left for college. I think they wanted to make sure we’d come home every break.”
Max flopped onto a black sofa and held up a remote. “One of the many perks of having a lawyer and a dentist for parents. Wanna watch a movie or something?”
“Do we have time?” Oliver’s stomach growled. “Food’s gonna be ready soon, right? I’m starving.”
Right on cue, the door opened, and Roger popped his head in. “You boys ready to make your pizzas? There’s enough room in the oven for three at a time.”
“You and Mom can go first,” Max answered. “We want to spend some more time with ‘Ollie olly oxen free.’”
“All right. They only take about fifteen minutes, so come up whenever you’re ready.” He left, shutting the door behind him.
Aiden sent his brother a sour look. “You could have asked us before answering. Oliver said he’s starving.”
“Hey, Dad spent all day slaving over a hot stove. He deserves to eat first. Same goes for Mom. Besides, old people need sustenance.” He thumped his chest with a fist. “Us strong young men can survive without. At least, for a few minutes.”
“You are so dramatic.”
“I’m not dramatic. I’m—”
“Expressive. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. Funny how it doesn’t become truer the more you say it.”
They dove headlong into a round of bickering while Oliver watched, caught between amusement and awkwardness. He’d thought their fighting was funny before, but now it highlighted something he’d been trying not to think about. Welcome as they’d made him feel, there was no doubt he was the outsider here. The Kingsmans were a family, and Max and Aiden were twins for Christ’s sake. That was a bond he couldn’t hope to touch.
At one point, the bickering took a surreal turn, and Max called Aiden a “soggy slice of bread.” Oliver burst out laughing. Their matching faces turned to him in unison.
“Sorry, Oliver. We’re being rude.” Aiden perched on the arm of the sofa by his brother. “We invited you over so we could catch up, not ignore you. Tell us everything. What have you been up to?”
Oliver approached a set of oversized club chairs and flopped into one. “Honestly, not that much. I told you most of the exciting bits before. I go to NYU Stern, which is the business school. I’m majoring in marketing. I’m on the crew team.” He tapped his chin. “Though I guess one thing has changed. I got this.”
He lifted up his shirt, exposing his abdomen. To the right of his belly button, beneath his ribs, was a tattoo of detailed waves enclosed by a circle.
For some reason, Aiden’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. He jerked his eyes away. “That’s, um, nice. Very cool. I like your placement choice.”
Max, however, leaned forward and squinted at it. “Hell yeah! You got inked. I keep saying I’m going to get something. What’s it mean?”
“Lots of different things. I’ve always loved the water. It also makes me think of my mom, and watching the sun set over the Hudson River. And of living in California. The waves there are so soothing to listen to. The roar and the rhythm of them. You know?”
“That’s beautiful,” Aiden said without looking at it.
Oliver lowered his shirt, wondering if he’d done something wrong. He changed the subject. “So, you guys said you go to the same school? And you live together, right? What’s that like?”
Max shrugged. “Pretty much the same as when we lived together in this house for eighteen years. Our freshman year we were assigned to different dorms, but we both ended up hating our roommates. After that, we figured we’d stick together. The devil you know, and all that. Are you living in the dorms?”
“Nah. I live with my mom during the year. Her place isn’t far from campus, and the city’s so expensive. But it looks like I’ll be spending summers here from now on. Or at least until I’m out of school.”
Max whooped. “That’s great! We can hang out whenever we’re all in town.”
“Yeah, definitely. Now that I have you guys, I might not die of boredom. This place is such a different speed from what I’m used to.”
“Where in the city do you live?” Aiden asked.
“Queens. I know everyone thinks Manhattan is where it’s at, but I love it. Everything’s so busy all the time. You can walk everywhere. The only time I wish I had a car is when I’m late to class. NYU is great, but the campus is spread out all over.”
“Do you have tons of friends back home?” Aiden was biting his nails. “Or a girlfriend or whatever?”
“Friends, yes. Girlfriend, no. I mostly hang out with the guys from my crew team, though my two best friends are Adam, a crew buddy, and this girl I met at freshman orientation, Christine. She’s great, and a total genius.” And the first person I came out to.
Max whistled in a suggestive way. “Christine, huh? Is she the reason you don’t have a girlfriend? You’re waiting for the right moment to make your move?”
Oliver winced. He’d hoped to avoid having this conversation right away, but he supposed it was inevitable. “Christine’s wonderful, but she’s not my type.” He hesitated. “Adam would actually be my type, if he weren’t such a stoner.”
There was a pause. For once, it was Max who turned red. “Oh. Oh. Sorry, dude. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Oliver held up a hand. “It’s okay. I only came out this past year. It hasn’t been easy, though. My parents were fine with it, but the rest of my family is another story. I don’t think they’re against it, per se, but they seem to have forgotten I’m the same person as before.”
“Shit.” Max wiped his mouth. “And you’ve been surrounded by them since you got back? That’s gotta be rough.”
“You have no idea. It’s only for a while, though. Summer can’t last forever, right?” Oliver peeked at Aiden for his reaction, but he was staring down at the floor.
Max seemed to notice his brother’s lack of response as well. He elbowed him in the side. “Hey, what’s with the vow of silence? I’d think you’d be thrilled to learn Oliver’s gay.”
Oliver raised an eyebrow. “Why would he be ‘thrilled’ about that?”
“Because—” Aiden finally looked up, his eyes cool as the ocean “—I’m gay too.”